


itch

by kasarin



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Not Happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 05:10:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15065849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kasarin/pseuds/kasarin
Summary: Maybe it’s not supposed to be like this. Maybe the pain stems what they are: two shells of people acting out urges they no longer have, clawing at an itch that’s long since faded away.





	itch

He wonders, as he winces and bares his teeth in a grimace, if this is intended to hurt as much as it does. If it’s meant to burn in the only way he _doesn’t_  enjoy and remain as a dull ache for hours afterward. People who do this are usually in love, right? So why do it, if one of them spends half the time cringing and can’t even walk straight once they finish?  
  
Maybe it’s not supposed to be like this. Maybe the pain stems what they are: two shells of people acting out urges they no longer have, clawing at an itch that’s long since faded away. Maybe it’s because they’re missing some part of it, having had only the vaguest idea of what to do before they jumped into this. Or maybe it hurts because Saïx _wants_ it to hurt. Maybe it’s the blue-haired man’s way of making sure Axel doesn’t forget it.  
  
Like he really needs a reminder to _keep it memorized_.  
  
He never asks if it’s meant to hurt. Nor does Saïx ask if he’s all right when he flinches and grits his teeth. They both know it’s painful. They just don’t talk about it.  
  
Funny, how many things they _don’t_ talk about these days.  
  
He retaliates, as best he can, by digging blunt nails into Saïx’s skin and all but _clawing_ down his shoulders. Not that it causes much more than the slight furrowing of scarred skin across Saïx’s brow. The berserker’s shoulders are so muscular that Axel might have wondered if the action bothered him at all, had he not once seen the man scowl after moving an arm too carelessly several hours after they finished. So he claws just as much as he pleases, determined to ensure that his childhood friend feels some shred of the discomfort _he_ does.  
  
And it is uncomfortable, in every sense of the word. Not just because of the pain, which spikes inside of him with each move Saïx makes. Everywhere they _touch_ breeds discomfort. Skin slides against skin, and he aches for the soft black fabric he wraps himself in every second of every day.  
  
He’s not sure if that sensation — almost like sandpaper scrubbing against his skin — is a mental one or a physical one. He’s not sure if it’s born from being so unaccustomed to the feeling of bare skin against his own, or if there’s just something profoundly _wrong_ with two Nobodies touching like this. Two _Nobodies_ , attempting something that should be so intimate.  
  
If he thought he’d get a straight answer, he might try asking Saïx if it’s the same for him. But of course, _talking_ isn’t something that they do much of anymore.  
  
When the Seventh hunches down closer, hips thrusting harder and harder before his entire body goes rigid, Axel turns his head away. He doesn’t want to hear what he always hears, hissed against his neck like some twisted blend of a prayer and a curse:  
  
“ _Lea_.”  
  
He closes his eyes when Saïx’s hand grips him. Too tight; always too tight. He closes his eyes, and as his hips buck upwards, he buries his face in the other man’s shoulder.  
  
He doesn’t know what his expression says, in those last few moments. He doesn’t want to see what Saïx reads in it.  
  
When they finally still, they don’t immediately pull away. Instead, they lay there in silence, their noses pressed into each other’s hair and Saïx still half-buried inside of him. Axel thinks that, for humans, this is meant to be the afterglow. But there’s nothing _glowing_ about it; just pain fading to a dull ache, as they each cling to something that slid through their grasp long ago.  
  
Once in a while, Axel glides the tips of his fingers over the eight crescent-shaped marks his nails make in those last moments — ones that never fail to be deeper than all his previous clawing. And once in a while, he feels the brush of lips against his ear, and Saïx’s breath catches like he’s about to say something…  
  
But they never speak. And when they finally stop doing this, they never speak of that, either.

**Author's Note:**

> Old piece, originally written in July 2011.


End file.
